


Suite Infanta

by emily_in_the_glass



Category: Seraphina - Rachel Hartman
Genre: F/F, F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily_in_the_glass/pseuds/emily_in_the_glass
Summary: A short scene following the events of Shadow Scale, showing Seraphina and Glisselda's discovery of an important moment in history.  Shadow Scale spoilers, minor Tess of the Road spoilers.





	Suite Infanta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starfishstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/gifts).



Orma played the harpsichord with a saar's technical proficiency, but ever since the war, his music had acquired an element of surprise borne of involuntary muscle memory rather than from a place of logical analysis. His glissandos had the idiosyncrasy that he had once found so emotive in mine. When we played together, Orma harmonizing in the lower octaves while I prompted with leading melodies, our music was reminiscent of my mother Linn's, at once precise and reckless. 

Usually we did not speak while we played. The pointlessness of small talk irked Orma even more in his state now than ever before.

But today, after Orma had arranged the stool where it suited him, after he had folded back the sweeping sleeves typical of the habit of St. Gobnait's order (Kiggs and I have been trying to orchestrate his return St. Ida's to no avail), he said:

"So you are not as infertile as a mule."

St. Daan in a pan! How did he know? We had barely found out ourselves.

Of course, I knew how he knew. Saraantrai have an incurable habit of sniffing the air, an unsubtle reminder of their dragonhood.

"Thank you for exercising your remarkable olfactory prowess, " I said. Alas, I had given up hope that he would pick up on my sarcasm, but Kiggs would enjoy the epithet when I recounted this to him. 

"You are peculiar. I smell the hatchling without question, but I do not smell any change in your mammary tissue."

I had no wish to discuss my mammary tissue with my uncle, so I returned to playing Suite Infanta. It was a remarkable composition: when all the glissandos coalesced there was an indomitable strength to the music.

Queen Glisselda, the music's namesake, had found out only two nights ago. Orma's remarks erased all my doubt.

Selda had been nesting her unplaited head in my lap, where she noticed that the fabric of my gown had gone nubby. "Phina, we must retire this houppeland." 

She had a tendency to fret about my attire when she was overtired. "I'm assessing whether a farthingale would suit you. I am having one made for myself in peacock blue when the next shipment of Ninysh silk arrives. " 

I fished the hairpins from her curls, holding her shining head in my hands like an egg. "I am having a pair of Ninysh leather boots made," I told her, pleased that I had just the sort of news that would amuse her.

"Ninysh leather!" Selda raised her head slightly in affront. "And pray, whatever is the matter with Goreddi leather, crafted from the skin of the hardiest goats and cured in Trowebridge's oldest tannery? I have just increased the taxes in Ducanahan. Surely you ought to support your national industry."

"I do not deny that Goreddi goat hide is strong and durable," I said. "The Ninysh use oxen hide, which makes for a soft, supple textile. You are aware of the fineness of Ninysh leather."

"Yes, and their silk is as light as a summer breeze. I must find out what magic they weave into it."

"I found out who Countess Marga's bootmaker is." We had all been salivating over her boots, Kiggs and Selda and I.

"Indeed she did not tell you!"

"She merely expounded her opinion of trade treaties to Kiggs, noting the effect of reciprocal tarriffs on the craftsmen on Hyde Street. I wrote to my Ninysh friends about the conditions of Hyde Street, and they ferreted out the details for me, including which bootmaker the Countess patronizes."

"You haven't been writing to that rascal Josquin!"

"He's a herald, not a rascal," I said, smiling. 

"He writes you poetry."

"He's not a bad poet."

"Too many bookish rascals fall in love with you."

She pressed her face against the band of scales that wound around my midriff. My scales had been brittle and itchy of late; no amount of oil seemed to soothe them this frosty Midwinter. Selda jumped away as if she had been kicked. She knew I still disliked almost all contact with my scales.

"Phina, dear," Selda said solemnly.

"It's alright," I said. "I know you didn't mean to."

She watched me. I could tell her tousled hair concealed many churning thoughts.

"Oh, Phina," she said. "I don't know how to tell you, but I think I've gleaned why your scales have irritated you of late."

"Indeed, do tell. You know I have tried everything, even that Pelaguese whale blubber grease that came with our last Ninysh import. Have you seen the stuff? It's thicker than lard and fetid as a quigutl cesspit."

"Phina, we need to find you a midwife."

"I don't understand."

"We'll find you the best, St. Loola's trained, of course, you needn't worry."

I knew that St. Loola's trained midwives, but I couldn't put it together.

"Phina, I felt your baby kick."

"Impossible."

"Phina, darling, don't be a pedant like Lucius. I felt her kick. I know I did."

"We know ityasaari are the end of the line."

"We know less than we think we do," she said. Her voice had gone soft with sleepiness, gentle as a cloud. I could almost believe her.

Later, Kiggs said: "Selda has a point. We don't know. Other than St. Yirtrudis's testament, we have no records to go by at all. Why not write to Camba and ask what the Porphyrians know?"

My hands had wandered into a fantasia rent with a secretive strain, an undercurrent that contained by unbound hope and inexpressible regret. Orma had stopped playing altogether and was scrutinizing what I was doing.

"You are composing a new Suite Infanta," he said, pointing out what I had not realized. "But I will wait until you have finished it to offer my critical appraisal."

That was considerate of him.

We had already decided that the baby would officially be Selda's. Kiggs recognized the practicality of this arrangement. The political significance a half-ityassari as Goredd 's future queen was lost on none of us. We did not know how our daughter's heritage could change the world, but we -- all three of us -- believed she would.

"You'll leave her maternal memories," Orma said, clearly more engaged by my pregnancy than any other exchange we have shared thus far.

"I will try," I said, and I knew I had to. My blessing and burden, Kiggs and Glisselda's privilege and insight: these would all be my daughter's legacy, and Goredd's.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lizarel for the helpful beta read.


End file.
